Work Text:
She-Bar. It’s an unimaginative name, outlined in pink neon against the outline of a woman cracking a whip.
Jo goes in anyway. She’s left her weapons back at the motel, except for a small bottle of holy water tucked away in her bag. There’s a girl in a skintight leather vest at the reception, popping gum and sporting a head of huge curly 80s hair, who takes down Jo’s preferences and points her in the direction of a dimly-lit corridor to the right. To the left, more pink neon signs point the way to the dance floor, and loud, pulsing music blares from the area. ‘Room number 3,’ the girl says, jerking her head in the direction of the corridor.
The room’s all right, really. Ordinary, even. Jo’d been expecting a dungeon-like atmosphere, maybe whips and chains hanging on the walls, but there’s a big comfy-looking bed and a chest of drawers off to the side, and what looks like a sawhorse next to a closed window.
Behind her, the door opens and shuts with a quiet click.
‘Don’t turn around.’ The voice is quietly commanding, and is that a British accent?
The Domme presses up close against Jo from behind, snaking one arm around her neck and the other around her waist. ‘Safe word?’ she asks. Her arms are like a prison, her perfume light and summery, incongruous.
Jo breathes in deep, her head beginning to spin with want. ‘Roadhouse.’
‘Good choice. Like the Doors?’ A hand slips beneath her t-shirt, a fingertip tracing the rim of her navel. The other hand moves to cup Jo’s left breast, the thumb rubbing lightly over her nipple through two layers of clothing.
‘Maybe.’ Jo wriggles a little.
‘Patience, lovely.’ The Domme’s lips find the shell of Jo’s ear. She bites lightly. Jo’s never been a big fan of biting; maybe she’s just met too many nasties who were fond of sinking their teeth into human flesh. But this is barely a bite at all—just a little graze of teeth over skin, a small flick of the tongue, leaving a spot of wetness behind, measured to augment the sensations that the Domme’s hands are creating.
Jo lets out an involuntary moan and tips her head back a little. She’s not entirely sure the sound is one of pleasure. There’s a band of soft, silky black being tied over her eyes and a slightly unpleasant tightness begins to form in her guts, the illusion of helplessness more threatening than exciting.
‘You good?’ the woman behind her says, perhaps sensing the tension in Jo’s body.
Jo takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’
There’s a soft chuckle against her ear. ‘Good.’ Jo finds herself spun around, a warm wet mouth against hers and a hand tightening just right in her hair. She winds her arms around her Domme’s neck and gives herself up to the kiss.
(tbc)
